


Demons of a Different Breed

by Kika988



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kika988/pseuds/Kika988
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam confronts Dean with a painful truth that they will have to face in the coming days. </p><p>(also known as: my attempt to 'fix' what Sam said and did in S8)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons of a Different Breed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thealpacalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealpacalypse/gifts).



> As usual, thanks to the lovely NiennaNir for giving this a once-over for me. Comments are welcomed with love and adoration!

Dean sank into a plush couch in the library, rubbing his hands hard into his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up. He blinked through the starbursts that resulted and yawned as he leaned back, deciding he could afford to rest a few minutes before starting dinner. 

Three days. For three days Sammy had lain still in the hospital bed after passing out on the way there, even as the angels still fell. Dean hadn’t moved from his bedside, plagued with memories of Sam’s lifeless body so many years ago. Every time Dean fell asleep, flopped forward across Sam’s arm, he awoke in a panic, fumbling for his brother’s wrist to reassure himself that the pulse was still there; the beeping of the machines gave him little comfort. Machines could lie, but the thrumming of warm blood beneath his fingers was undeniable truth. 

Then, on the third day, there was movement. Just small things, a flicker of an eyelid, a twitch of a finger, but it was enough for Dean to notice and report to a skeptical nurse, who raised an eyebrow but dutifully typed his comments into her report. By that evening he was awake. 

Dean spent a good two hours convincing Sam that the world was not ending -- not just this minute, anyway -- and he could and WOULD spend the time needed to recuperate from his ordeal. Sam sulked but finally gave in, but sure enough the next day he charmed all the doctors and nurses into releasing him. 

Charming or not, even the trip to the bunker had exhausted Sam, so Dean had shuffled him off to bed as soon as they arrived, followed by checking in on Kevin, making sure Crowley was still secure, and double checking the security of the premises. The Men of Letters had some pretty solid demonproofing, but nothing against angels, and Dean had been on the road too long to let his habits slip. If he left the front door unlocked in case Cas came home, despite not answering his calls… well, he wasn’t going to dwell on that. 

Dean jerked at the sound of movement, then relaxed when he saw it was only Sam, still pale and gaunt but moving of his own volition. Sam moved with grim determination rather than his usual loose grace and purpose, but he was moving, and that was enough for Dean for the moment. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Dean pointed out with a scowl, even as he moved to make room for his brother on the couch. Sam rolled his eyes as he flopped gratefully onto the space provided. 

“I’ve been resting for three days,” he pointed out. “I’m tired, but I can’t sleep, so I may as well be out here.” 

Dean shrugged. “If you say so. I was about to go start some grub, any requests?” Sam shifted slightly, running his fingers over his too-big sweatpants. 

“Uh, actually I wanted to talk to you about something.” Dean stiffened in anticipation of a fight. 

“Sam, if this is about the trials--”

“No!” Sam interjected, shaking his head. “I mean, not really. It may have had something to do with it, maybe, but…” Dean raised his eyebrows in a silent question. “I’m sorry about what I said back at the church,” Sam said, all in a rush. Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. 

“Come on, Sammy…”

“No, listen,” Sam interrupted. “I need to say this.” He took a deep breath. “Since… since I left with you, left Amelia, I’ve not been great. It was the right choice, and I know that, but after that taste of a normal life, going back to hunting was...hard.” He paused, cleared his throat. “I, um. I’ve been doing a lot of faking. I was sad for a while, which I guess was normal, but then I just… stopped. Being sad, being happy, anything.” He glanced up at Dean, who was watching him with something akin to horror. “So, like I said, I faked it. I wanted to stay in bed all day, but you were there, so I got up and did what I always did because you expected me to. And then… I don’t know, seeing you with Cas and Benny… It freaked me out a little,” he admitted. “Normally it wouldn’t, and now, thinking logically, I know it’s a good thing, a _great_ thing, for you to have friends, but at the time all I could think was, maybe I wasn’t faking it well enough. Maybe you wanted to go off with them and leave me. And I knew I couldn’t do this alone.” 

“Sammy,” Dean said, his voice breaking. “Sammy, you know--”

“Yes, I know, Dean,” Sam said gently. “But what I’m getting around to here is I wasn’t thinking logically. I could only see how useless I was, how much better off you’d be without me, and if I could go out doing something great like closing the gates of hell, well, what more could I ask for?” He glanced up to see Dean’s face drained of color. He was working his jaw as if to try to speak, but Sam pushed ahead first. “I’m not suicidal, Dean, so calm down. I’m not,” he repeated, reaching out to put a hand on Dean’s arm. Dean scrabbled for it and held on like it was a lifeline keeping Sam from floating away, but he still didn’t speak. “I just… wasn’t opposed to dying. There is a difference,” he pointed out. “But it’s still not… right. Not healthy.” He looked down at their hands and took a deep breath. “I knew months ago I was depressed, but I didn’t realize how bad it was. I do now, so I’m telling you. So maybe we can do something about it.” 

Dean nodded, the movement jerky but firm. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Yeah, Sammy, we’ll do whatever we need to, okay? Whatever you need.” He reached out and dragged Sam to him, wrapped his arms around him as if he could protect him from the world, angels, demons, even the ones in his own mind. 

Dean held on for a small eternity before pulling back and making himself smile. “I’ll call Charlie, maybe she can find someone who can help, a doctor or therapist or something who knows about hunting. I’ll find someone,” he swore. 

“You always do,” Sam acknowledged with a small smile. “So,” he said, coughing awkwardly, “You mentioned dinner? I’m kind of starving.” Dean grinned and slapped his back before standing. 

“No wonder, that hospital food sucked. What do you want? Pasta? Chicken? Burgers?”

“Burgers sound great,” Sam said, smiling at Dean’s retreating back, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.


End file.
